


Negative Press

by kristophine



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Bisexuality, M/M, there's always more therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristophine/pseuds/kristophine
Summary: Dana took a deep breath and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Who started it?”“Nobody,” said Casey, at the same time as Dan said, “He did.”Casey shot Dan a sidelong glare and muttered, “Way to throw me under the bus, there, buddy.”“Maybe if you hadn’tstarted it,” Dan hissed back.





	Negative Press

**Author's Note:**

> As always, deepest thanks to saathi1013 for beta, who reminded me that characters should be believably likable, and who appreciated the pan flute and gong.

Dana took a deep breath and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Who started it?”

“Nobody,” said Casey, at the same time as Dan said, “He did.”

Casey shot Dan a sidelong glare and muttered, “Way to throw me under the bus, there, _buddy_.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t _started it,_ ” Dan hissed back.

“I didn’t!”

“Oh, so what _was_ that, then? You _not_ starting it?”

“I can’t believe you.”

“Gentlemen!” Dana shouted. “Let me rephrase. This is bad. You made us look bad. You made us look _very_ bad, in a very public fashion, and I don’t even know what the network is going to want to do about this, but I can guarantee you it will not be something either of you find _pleasant,_ so get your shit together _right fucking now!_ ”

They stared at her for a minute in what looked like genuine concern. Then Dan whispered to Casey, “She dropped the f-bomb.”

“She is _really_ mad at us,” Casey whispered back.

“Of course I’m really mad at you! You didn’t just embarrass yourselves, you embarrassed this _show._ And now you want to sit here and joke about it?”

“To be fair, I don’t _want_ to sit here,” said Dan.

She held up her index finger. “You shut up. I’m _furious._ I’m hoping we walk out of this with two anchors, but right now I’m not feeling too particular about who those anchors are. Calvin Trager would be well within his rights to fire both of you. You know damn well you’re supposed to _avoid creating negative press._ ”

“The press won’t be _that_ negative,” said Casey.

She pointed in wordless rage to the computer monitor, on which a brief video clip was frozen, paused on a moment when Casey was giving a photographer the middle finger while Dan shouted at them to go fuck themselves.

“She has a point,” Dan said to Casey.

“Oh, you can take your point and—”

“Real mature—”

“You have a meeting with Calvin Trager in fifteen minutes.”

That shut them both up. They stared at her in blank horror.

“You had to know that was coming,” she said. “This isn’t a slap on the wrist kind of scenario. You were both so far out of line you couldn’t see the line with a telescope, and he takes that _seriously._ More seriously than you do.”

Dan had gone sheet-white. “Okay.”

“That’s fine.” Casey took a deep breath. “We’ll just… meet with… he’s in town? He’s not, say, in Brussels?”

“No. It’s your good fortune that he is _in New York_ when his anchors _screw up like toddlers throwing a temper tantrum_.”

“Christ,” said Casey, and then looked surprised at himself.

Dan shook his head. “It’ll be fine. They’ll… it’ll be fine.”

“I hope so. I really do. Now get your asses upstairs and wait for your meeting. Be early, and be respectful, for once in your lives.”

They shuffled out of her office, Dan behind Casey, and she started opening drawers to hunt for her Tylenol. It was going to be a very, very long day.

 

“It’s an interesting situation you’ve created.” Calvin Trager leaned back in his chair, watching them expressionlessly. He was so hard to read, Dan thought, it was like figuring out what the Dalai Lama was thinking.

Neither of them said anything. Casey was picking at a thread on his sleeve.

“What would you do if you were in my position?”

Casey looked off to the side, huffing. “Suspend us.”

“For how long? With or without pay?”

“A week, without pay.”

Dan elbowed Casey sharply—a week without pay was a nasty proposition—but Casey glared back at him.

“Interesting,” said Calvin. “What about a public apology?”

Dan sighed involuntarily. He could hear how annoyed he sounded. “Why not another one?”

“Do you think it’s unreasonable this time?” asked Calvin with deceptively even curiosity.

“No.” Dan shrugged like he was trying to get something off his back. “I think it’s entirely reasonable. We acted childishly in public and embarrassed the network.”

“Which brings up a great question.” Calvin leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk and folding his hands. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you get into it with those photographers?”

“ _Photographers_ is such a generous assessment,” said Casey bitterly.

“Tabloid photographers still have cameras, Casey, and in this day and age they even come equipped with video cameras, which is why I know exactly what you called them.”

Casey had the good grace to flinch.

“They were being unprofessional,” Dan said.

“Define unprofessional for me.”

“They were asking about things they had no right to ask about.”

“Which were?”

“Also none of _your_ business,” Casey said.

Calvin sighed. “Here’s the problem. It may not be my business, but I _know_ what they were asking about, because it’s on the footage. They asked if you knew that Bobby Blankenship was a closeted gay athlete.”

“And I told them to go to Hell.” Casey’s mouth was set in a mutinous line.

“That you did.” Calvin interlaced his fingers and stared at them before looking back up, pinning Dan with his piercing stare. “You chimed right in.”

“It’s none of their damn business whether he’s gay or not.”

“Whether or not it’s their business, your reaction lets them think it’s _your_ business.”

“The point is that it isn’t _anyone’s_ business but his.” There were spots of color on Casey’s cheeks; he was getting angry about it all over again.

“Were you drunk?”

“We’d been drinking,” said Dan when Casey didn’t seem inclined to answer. “Which we do, like adults, on a regular basis.”

“I want you to write an apology. Together. You’ll do a minute on it when you come back from suspension in two weeks.”

“Damn it,” said Dan to nothing in particular.

“ _With_ pay, Dan, so you can calm down.”

“Thanks,” he said shortly.

“You’ll need the time for therapy.”

“What?” said Casey.

“You’ll do four sessions of therapy. Two each week for the two weeks of your suspension. You’ll get some tips on controlling your temper should you be accosted in such a fashion again. Which, if this network does as well as I expect it to, you _will,_ so you need to be prepared.”

“I’m already in therapy,” said Dan.

“Obviously not enough.”

“Okay, ouch.”

“You’re off the air tonight. Suspension starts now.”

 

Marty leaned back in his chair, studying the two men sitting in his office, who were looking at anything but each other.

“So, fellas,” said Marty. “Who wants to start by telling me about why you’re here?”

“He does,” said the one named Dan. Marty watched enough TV to have a sense of who was who.

“I do not.” Casey folded his arms mutinously.

“Guys, guys!” Marty waved his hands in the air. “I know this may be difficult for you, but this is a journey of trust and healing, and unless you get into the car with me, we can’t get started on this ride together.”

Casey was making what appeared to be an involuntary face, a rictus of distaste. Dan’s left eyeball was twitching. Neither said anything.

“We can start with introductions. My name is Marty Green. I’ve been hired by your office to talk with you. Now, what are your names?”

“I’m Dan Rydell,” said Dan.

“Are you a doctor?” asked Casey.

“I hold a doctorate of psychology from the fine university known as Yale, my friend. And your name is?”

“Casey McCall,” muttered Casey with bad grace.

“Now, sometimes counseling with two or more people can get pretty complicated. To help us deal with that, we can either agree to have conversations where we try to take each other’s feelings and desire to talk into account, or we can use a talking stick.” Marty gestured to the talking stick, propped in the corner of his windowsill. The stick was covered in pink rhinestones; his daughter had gone through a hot glue gun phase, and more of his belongings than he had anticipated had ended up Bedazzled. “Which do you prefer?”

“No talking stick!” Casey had gone wide-eyed and tight-lipped in horror.

“Great. I think we can make this work, as long as everyone pitches in with the work and helps move us along.” Marty leaned forward, putting his elbows on his desk, and said conversationally, “So why are you here?”

With the threat of the talking stick hanging over them, Dan and Casey looked at each other. They shared some wordless message. Reluctantly, Dan started to talk.

“We were at a bar. It’s called Anthony’s, it’s close to where we work, the bartenders all know us and we can have a good time there. So people from the show go there on occasion after work.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Marty.

“There was some news that was about to break, only we didn’t know about that.”

 

_“Dan!” called someone outside the bar as they were leaving. Dan frowned, holding up a hand to block the unexpected light. “Dan, did you know about Bobby Blankenship?”_

_“What?” Dan asked._

_“Bobby Blankenship is gay.”_

_The inside of his head was suddenly full of the powdery silence of a ski slope. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say._

_Casey stepped up next to him. “We don’t_ care _if Bobby’s gay. We care if he’s going to keep batting at point two nine this season.”_

 _“That’s a real nice thing to say,” another voice yelled from beyond the circle of the lights. This voice was deeper, more sarcastic. “Did_ you _know?”_

_“Doesn’t matter.” Casey’s voice was booming—damn it, he was projecting, whether it was on purpose or not. “It’s none of our business. Or yours.”_

_“Danny,” said a third voice, a woman’s this time. “You never answered. Did you know that Bobby was a closeted gay athlete?”_

_“I’m also going to say it’s none of our business,” said Dan slowly._

_“Dan,” said the first voice. Sharks in the water, smelling blood. “There are always rumors about athletes. Sometimes there are rumors about—”_

_“Why does this matter to you?” Casey’s voice drowned them out easily. “Are you that desperate to sell copies, that you have to try to ruin an athlete’s life? It’s not enough that there are pro athletes out there doping and beating their wives, you have to go for somebody who’s just trying to play sports?”_

_“Is this getting personal for you, Casey?” asked the second voice snidely._

_“It’s not personal for any of us, that’s the_ point.” _Casey sounded pissed off. “It’s his life. He can live however he wants to.”_

_“How about you, Danny? Any comment on whether you support Bobby’s alternative lifestyle?”_

_“Oh, alternative lifestyle,” said Dan. He could hear his own voice, but it didn’t sound like him. “Nice euphemism. Do you learn that in journalism school? Did you go to journalism school, or did they just scrape you out from under a rock when they were looking for worms?”_

_One of the voices said, just loudly enough for Dan to catch, “Everybody knows Dan’s a—”_

_“Hey!” Casey bellowed. “No comment. There’s your story, right there. No fucking comment, because this isn’t news.”_

_“Whether you like it or not, it’s news!”_

_Casey flipped the photographer off._

_“Real mature, asshole!” shouted the photog, and Dan could actually feel his blood pressure rising._

_“Go fuck yourselves!” Dan shouted._

_And that, as they say, was that._

 

“Wow,” said Marty thoughtfully. “That sounds like a rough night.”

Dan was staring at his hands in his lap. Casey was staring at the corner between the wall and the ceiling.

“Casey.” Marty leaned forward, and Casey grudgingly made eye contact. “It sounds like you had some strong feelings about what the paparazzi were doing.”

“Obviously.” Casey set his jaw. “They were invading _our_ good night out to ask questions about an athlete they _should_ be leaving alone.”

“So you object to people outing professional athletes?”

“Of course I do! It’s his _entire career._ We’re not talking a season or two here. We’re talking about him never playing professionally again. Do you have any _idea_ how much time and money he’s put into this, not to mention blood, sweat, and tears? They’re ruining his life so they can get a few clicks on their trash websites.”

“It sounds like something worth getting mad about.”

Casey folded his arms belligerently. “Well, I sure as hell thought so.”

“Dan, how did you feel about being accosted like that?”

Dan shook his head, still looking at his hands. He hadn’t looked up during Casey’s comments.

“I’m going to need more clarification than that.”

“I already have a therapist, you know,” Dan said abruptly. “She’s very good. I’ve made a lot of progress.”

“That’s a wonderful thing. Individual therapy often has different goals than group counseling, so although it may seem like this session is an attack on her skills or your progress, it’s not.”

“Okay.” Dan nodded.

“So how did you feel about the photographers ganging up on you like that?”

Dan laughed hollowly. “ _Shitty._ I couldn’t even think what to say. What kind of bullshit is that? We’re, we’re just some assholes, you know? We’re sports anchors. We’re not—what puts us in any kind of position to have an opinion on this guy’s life, outside of his career? Which, by the way, Casey is one hundred percent correct, whoever leaked this just ruined.”

“You don’t think major league baseball is ready for a gay athlete?”

“God, no.” Dan drew his lips back over his teeth in some kind of cross between a snarl and a laugh. “Did you _see_ the headlines about it? The puns alone deserve the death penalty.”

“I haven’t seen the headlines. What do they say?”

Casey broke in, “They all think they’re _clever_ because they’ve gone with pitcher and catcher references.”

Dan snorted. “Not to mention talking about what _team_ he plays for. It’s like they hired a robot to write those stories. Or a twelve-year-old.”

“So it sounds like when they started asking you these questions, you were caught off-guard and you reacted off the cuff, and that reaction was a pretty angry one.”

“Yeah.” Casey shrugged. “So what?”

“Well, you tell me. So what?”

Dan sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Case. You know it’s a big deal.”

“Whatever.” Casey’s lips pinched together, pouting slightly. “Those assholes had it coming.”

“Who did your actions have negative repercussions for, though?” asked Marty, tilting his head to one side.

That took Casey a long time to answer. Dan didn’t help. Finally, Casey said, “Us.”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever.”

“Is this what you wanted?” Marty nodded around the room. “Relationship counseling with a touchy-feely shrink?”

“You know it isn’t.” Casey had pressed his lips together so tightly they’d all but vanished at the words _relationship counseling_.

“So if this ever happens again, what’s going to be different so that you don’t end up somewhere like here?” Marty gave him a bland, radiantly friendly smile. He’d been perfecting it for years.

 

“ _God,_ ” said Casey with heartfelt annoyance once they were out of Dr. Green’s office.

“Agreed.” Dan flexed his hands experimentally—they’d been balled up into fists for a good chunk of the hour.

“I can’t believe we’re suspended for _two weeks._ ” Casey had been going on about this at some length ever since the suspension.

“Casey, I know you’re pissed off, but can you just…” Dan sighed. “Keep it low-key for a while?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Casey yanked open the door of the cab that had just pulled up, and he climbed in. “ _Low-key._ Fine.”

“Not like that,” Dan said hopelessly as Casey slammed the door.

But it was too late; Casey’s WASPishness had been fully activated, his nose was in the air in proud disdain, and he was not going to share that cab.

Dan caught a second cab back to his condo. He’d taken the weekend to make it through a handful of books he’d been meaning to read. That, and watching a disturbing amount of bad television. The summer was sweltering outside, a long, slow roast that made him think inexorably of rotisserie chickens. He could have called Abby, and maybe he should have called Abby. But instead he turned on his television and watched a rerun of _Diagnosis: Murder._

There was something to be said for familiarity.

It was just getting dark when the phone rang. He stared at it, unsure whether to pick up.

His answering machine got it. “Hi, you’ve reached Dan. Please leave a message after the tone and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” Crisp, clean, professional, and without his last name, a bit more private. For what good that would do.

“Danny,” said Casey. He sounded like he’d gotten over the bug up his ass; a little contrite, even. “I’m so bored, I’m organizing my closet. Help me out here.” A tacit apology.

Dan picked up the cordless with a ghost of a smile and hit the button. “Your closet doesn’t need any more organizing. I’ve seen it. It’s like something out of a catalogue.”

“I like being able to find things on the first try!”

“I’m not criticizing, I’m just saying that the level of organization in your closet is a scary and potentially inhuman thing.”

“But scary and potentially inhuman in a very convenient way.”

“That is correct.”

“Good.”

“Although there is something on the nose about organizing your _closet_ right now.” Dan laughed; Casey didn’t. “Sorry.”

“Today…” Casey hesitated. “That was rough.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think Thursday’s going to be better?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Casey sighed heavily. “Me neither.”

Dan shifted his grip on the phone, reaching into a cupboard. “It could have been worse.”

“It could have been a lot worse.”

“He could have made us use the talking stick.”

He could practically hear Casey’s shudder. “Point.”

“Thursday’s going to suck but I think it’s going to be more of the same. How did that make you feel, breathing exercises, guided visualization.”

“ _Visualization,_ ” said Casey scornfully. “We’re _writers,_ we don’t need to be _guided_ to visualize things. We’re full of cunning metaphors and cleverly-crafted quips.”

“Casey.”

“I’m just saying, I think we could find more creative ways to describe that passel of assholes.”

Dan started laughing. “You think we should come up with more options for names to _call_ them? Screw the deep breathing, that’s going to be the thing you change next time?”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.”

“See, the thing is, if Calvin Trager thinks there is… then I’m inclined to plan for it. He didn’t get rich by luck alone.”

“There was probably a significant component of luck!”

“Yeah, but I’m guessing he knows a thing or two about the media. If he wants us to be able to respond like a couple of protocol droids, I think we should learn how.”

“That was a Star Wars reference, right?”

“Casey.”

“I watched them, okay? I did watch them. It was a while back.”

“A while back? How _old_ are you? Have you seen _any_ of them since they were released in theaters?”

“I am almost certain that I have.”

Dan snorted. “You know what, I think this calls for a movie marathon.”

“Three movies? I guess that’s enough for a marathon.”

“There’s _five,_ you heathen.”

“I heard the new ones aren’t what you might call good.”

“They’re still Star Wars movies and you should still see them, if only for the sake of having conversations with your son. The fifth one’s still in theaters, anyway.”

“Charlie was the one who _told_ me they weren’t good.”

“Charlie’s a smart kid, but you need to judge for yourself.”

“Tomorrow good?”

“Yeah. What else am I doing?” Dan sighed. “What else are _you_ doing?”

“We covered this, I’ve been worrying about my closet. It’s exceptionally weird and unpleasant to not be going to work.”

“It’s true,” said Dan wistfully. “I really like my job.”

“I do, too.”

“And it’s worse under these circumstances. If it were two weeks in Cabo, that would be one thing, but this is not even close to that.”

Casey made a noise of agreement. “I suppose there isn’t a reason why it couldn’t be.”

“Except that I have to be here Mondays and Thursdays for therapy.”

“Maybe you could bribe the good doctor to overlook your absence.”

“And yours?”

“And mine.”

“Not a chance. Trager sees all and knows all. I’m not risking it.”

“You’re holding your manhood cheap, Danny.”

“Better to be holding it cheap than to lose it entirely.”

“So what I’m hearing is, you’re not going to take advantage of even a long weekend in Atlantic City during this enforced sabbatical.”

“I think it would send the wrong message.”

“Now you’re worried about a _message?_ Who are you, and what have you done with my reckless and improvident friend?”

“I’m being prudent.”

“Well, I’m going to start working on my alternate roster of things to call reporters.”

“Other than a passel of assholes?” Dan bit his lip, trying not to smile.

“Other than that.”

“What are your top contenders?”

“I’m thinking pack of passé pricks.”

“Still too colorful.”

He could hear a smile in Casey’s voice. “Herd of hilariously horrible hate-mongers.”

“That’s got promise.”

“Collection of crack-addled cowards.”

Dan tutted. “A little prejudicial towards people struggling with addiction, don’t you think?”

“Fine. A legion of low-brow illegitimate louses.”

“ _Louses?_ ” Dan couldn’t help his laughter.

“I admit I waffled on whether to go for louses or lice.”

“You’re a real card.”

“I try.” Casey sounded smug.

“Next thing you’re going to be telling me why you’re down on these jitter-bugging youth nowadays.”

“Hey, wait!”

“Casey, Casey, Casey,” said Dan, smiling. “You are a one-of-a-kind relic. It’s like personally knowing a Ford Model T. Never change.”

Casey snorted. “Pretty sure I’ve been _ordered_ to change by Trager himself.”

“True enough.”

“So movie marathon tomorrow? Do you have the movies or do we need to rent them?”

“I’ve got the first three, we need to rent the fourth.”

“I’ll grab it on the way over.”

“Oh, I’m hosting?”

“I’m volunteering you to host.”

“Well, thank you _so_ much,” Dan said insincerely.

“You’re _welcome,_ ” Casey responded in a similarly saccharine vein.

“You realize I’m not cleaning just because your sorry ass is coming over.”

“I wouldn’t dream of expecting it.”

“Fine.”

“You should get beer.”

Dan was indignant. “You should bring beer!”

“I’m already bringing the movie!”

“Yeah, so you’ll be out on the streets like the worldly man about town that you are, and it would be _convenient_ for you to pick up beer.”

“And yet, as my host, I believe you will feel the need to ensure my comfort with the appropriate chilled alcoholic beverages.”

“I hate you.”

“What time?”

“Three?”

“Sounds good.” Dan usually woke up in the vicinity of ten or eleven, so three p.m. gave him plenty of time to wake up and make a run to the bodega for beer and snacks.

“Danny…”

Dan gave him a minute, but Casey didn’t seem inclined to say anything else. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Casey abruptly. “Nothing, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

 

When Casey showed up, he had a harried expression on his face and a movie, along with enough microwave popcorn and Twizzlers to feed a small army, in a plastic bag.

“The first place I tried didn’t have it,” he groused, dropping the bag onto the couch. “I had to try a second place!”

“Hey, at least you found it. Why so much food?”

Casey made a face at the bag, scrunching up his nose. “The guy behind the counter asked what I was doing. When I said Star Wars marathon, he wouldn’t shut up about how we were going to be _starving,_ and I don’t know what precisely happened but he somehow sold me this garbage from the stand next to the register. I didn’t check the expiration dates. They’re probably all from 1985.”

“Ooh, Milk Duds!”

“Those are _awful._ He must have snuck them in.”

“Mallomars!”

“Those I will take credit for.” Casey was smiling reluctantly as Dan snagged the Mallomars with a proprietary air. “Also, I told him you wanted the fourth one, and he said that _wasn’t_ the one marked Episode IV. I trusted to his expertise.”

“As you should have.”

“It makes no sense.”

“It makes _perfect_ sense, the original releases were intended as the second of two trilogies with the prequels planned—are you screwing with me?”

“I wouldn’t.” Casey’s mouth twitched. “Probably.”

“I believe you, if only because you are so painfully uncool.” Dan grinned as he set the bag aside. “All right, my friend. Get comfortable, because you are about to go on a journey to a galaxy far, far away.”

“You’re a colossal nerd and it escapes me how you are ever considered more cool than I am.” Casey kicked off his shoes.

“Casey?”

“Yes?”

“It’s because I’m cooler than you are.”

“Bite me!” Casey yelled over his shoulder on his way into the kitchen. “Where’s the beer?”

“In the fridge, do you think I’m some kind of anarchist?”

“Yeah, but where—oh.” There was a clinking that indicated Casey’s success in finding it on the bottom rack, where it _always_ was. “God, your refrigerator is depressing.”

“Hey!”

“Danny,” said Casey, reemerging to sit on the far end of the couch as Dan got the VCR ready, “the sum total of your fridge contents is mustard, beer, and four cartons of leftover take-out of indeterminate age. That is not a healthy, balanced diet.”

“Shut up,” muttered Danny as the tape finished rewinding.

“Why are we watching this on tape? Don’t you have it on DVD yet?”

“Look,  there’s an essential _experience_ in watching it on tape that’s lost in the transition to the digital—”

“Forget I asked.”

“Vinyl records are superior to digital music.”

“Danny, I don’t care.”

“There’s a _tactile_ quality—oh, for fuck’s sake.” The VCR made a weird grinding noise. Dan had to pause, pop the tape out, and try again. “Also, it’s not out on DVD yet.”

“So it would be technically impossible.”

“Yes.” Dan smacked the side of the VCR. At last it worked, the previews beginning to light the screen.

“Can’t we at least fast-forward through the previews, or are they part of the _tactile experience,_ too?”

“Shh.” But Dan did hit the fast-forward button.

Casey settled down once the movie got going, like he always did. Casey was the kind of guy who believed that talking in someone’s living room during a movie was comparable to talking in a theater. He ended up eating most of the microwave popcorn that Dan got up periodically to make, despite his avowed distaste for it.

They ordered pizza for dinner—half and half, so Casey could enjoy the abomination that was pineapple as a pizza topping—and a two-liter of Coke, and the sky gradually went dark outside.

Casey sprawled more during Episode I, frowning at the screen, groaning out loud at the worst lines. “ _Seriously?_ That’s—Danny, I know I’m not _hip,_ but I’m fairly sure that’s a thinly disguised racial caricature.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not racial, it’s anti-Semitic.”

“And you’re still _watching_ this?”

“Shh, he’s going to race.”

Casey shut up for a while. “Okay, that’s _definitely_ racist.”

“Yes, it is.”

“And he’s—oh, God. Is he a _main character?_ Doesn’t he _die?_ ”

“Shut _up._ ”

“I can’t believe I let Charlie watch this!”

“Casey, you’re missing—”

“Spellbinding plot, I’m sure!”

Dan was laughing, despite his irritation, and he threw a Milk Dud at Casey. “Shut up and let me watch my crappy movie!”

“Nostalgia for your vanished youth is the only _possible_ explanation for you wanting to watch this, Danny.”

“Maybe so, but your youth is more vanished than mine.”

“Oh, real nice.”

Casey sprawled even more, somehow ending up with his feet resting against Dan’s hip. Dan let it be.

There was a scattering of empty beer bottles over the coffee table by the time the credits rolled. Casey sighed comfortably, shifting slightly but leaving his feet where they were. “Consider me re-educated.”

“You don’t have to make watching movies sound like a Communist prison camp.”

“I suppose there are some minor differences.”

“For one thing, there aren’t _nearly_ the beatings.”

“I might have preferred physical violence to whatever the last movie was supposed to be. Trying to be.”

“I think it was intended as a political statement.”

“Then it failed, because I have no _idea_ what they meant to say.”

“I will accept that critique.”

“You’d better.” Casey smiled at him, lazy and happy. “Otherwise, we’d end up trying to talk whatever politics those were, and I don’t think it would go well for either of us.”

It was a good night. It had been a hard couple of days since the suspension, but it was a good night, and Dan smiled back, feeling that precarious warmth. Like a soap-bubble. He was waiting for it to burst.

Casey should leave. It was late by the outside world’s standards, even if not by theirs.

“What are you up to tomorrow?” asked Dan.

“Lisa’s letting me borrow Charlie. I’m going to take him to the Hall of Science again.”

“Cool, cool.”

“How about you?”

Dan shrugged. “I thought I’d catch up on some books. Maybe do some errands.”

“You want to come with us? The Hall of Science is pretty cool.”

And it was; Dan had been there before with Casey and Charlie, and he knew Charlie loved it. He knew Charlie liked it when Dan was there. At thirteen, Charlie was on the verge of getting that paralytic self-consciousness that was one of the hallmarks of puberty for shy kids. He seemed to appreciate Dan’s practiced nonchalance in the face of self-doubt.

It would have been a good day. A good way to spend the day.

“I can’t,” said Dan.

Casey frowned at him in confusion. “Why not?”

“Casey, we already—those tabloid photogs are going to be _watching_ for us to fuck up again, don’t you get it?”

Casey went still. He kept staring at Dan, his expression flatly unreadable.

“It’s better if we’re not out together in public.” Dan winced at his choice of words.

“You’re worried you’re being _watched?_ ”

“No, I’m worried that _if_ I’m seen by photogs they’ll hassle me again, and I think I have a better chance of not escalating if I’m not around you.”

“Fine.” Casey sat up, swinging his legs off the couch. Dan’s hip felt cold. “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah.”

“Wouldn’t want to be _seen_ leaving your apartment.”

“Not a whole lot later than this, no.”

Casey frowned at him, clearly pissed and confused. The confusion cleared a fraction of a section later, Casey’s eyebrows lifting involuntarily, and then Casey took a deep breath.

“Yeah, fine. Okay.”

It was funny how Casey could make three agreements into a triple negative. Casey swallowed hard, frowning off into space, but then he looked back at Dan and nodded again.

They didn’t talk as Casey put his shoes back on, grabbing his wallet and keys off the coffee table and shoving them into his pockets. On his way out, Casey hesitated, but then pulled Dan in for a brief, fierce hug.

Dan was forgiven, then. Not that it was _his_ fault; he hadn’t set the rules. He thought the rules were idiotic bullshit, but they _were_ the rules.

After Casey left, Dan wandered over to his window. From this high up, he couldn’t see the street very well. He was on the back side of the building anyway, so it wasn’t like he could watch Casey go. He listened to the sounds of traffic below.

The night was like every night in the city. Humming. Alive.

Leaving him behind.

He turned on the TV. They were halfway through the show with the subs. It was Tina and Bobbi that night, and they were doing a fine job.

 

Thursday found them back in Dr. Green’s office. It was a long, wide room, with big windows, pleasant light gray walls, and about sixteen different spider plants. There was a pan flute hanging above a gong next to one of the bookshelves.

“Gentlemen,” said Dr. Green with his wide smile. He was _such_ a hippie. He had a graying ponytail pulled back from a receding hairline, and he was wearing a second Grateful Dead-themed tie. Dan couldn’t find it in his heart to resent Dr. Green, not really; he reminded Dan of one of his favorite uncles, and it wasn’t like he’d been _wrong_ about the importance of controlling their behavior towards members of the press. Even the scum-sucking bottom-feeders of the press.

Casey nodded tightly at him. “Dr. Green.”

Dan gave a half-hearted wave.

“How have the last couple of days since our last session been?”

Casey shrugged. “Fine.”

“Have you practiced any of the skills we talked about last time?”

Dan was expecting Casey to blow it off, but instead Casey pursed his lips. “Yes.”

“That’s great!” Dr. Green’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Can you tell me more about that?”

Casey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Danny and I were—we were having a conversation I didn’t—I was getting annoyed. So I did some of that triangle breathing junk on the way down to the car.”

“Was it helpful?”

“Maybe. It was hard to tell.”

“Well, I appreciate that you tried. I know it can be hard to incorporate new things, particularly during those stressful moments where you need them most.”

Casey nodded, folding his arms over his chest.

“May I ask about the conversation that set it off?”

Casey glanced sidelong at Dan; Dan looked back at him.

Dan said, “It was a couple of things. He came over for a movie marathon. Right? Because it’s _boring,_ being suspended. He had Charlie, that’s his son, the next day, and he wanted to know if I wanted to go hang out with them.”

“And?”

“And I said we shouldn’t be seen together for a while.”

“And that bothered you, Casey?”

“Yeah.” Casey glared at Dr. Green. “Because it’s _bullshit._ ”

“Bullshit because Dan is wrong, or because he’s right?”

Casey looked away, every line in his body screaming unease. “Because he’s right.”

“And you think that’s crap.”

“I do.”

“Because you should be able to hang out, because you’re friends.”

“Yeah.” Casey lifted his chin defiantly, as if daring Dr. Green to disagree, but Dr. Green just turned back to Dan.

“Dan, you said it was a couple of things. What else was there?”

“I pointed out that he should leave my apartment while it was still pretty early. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case of reporters.”

“And that was for the same reason? Fear about how your relationship with Casey would be perceived?”

Dan tapped his fingers against the outer seam of his jeans. “Yes.”

“So your fears about this incident are affecting how you socialize?”

“Just for now. Just for a while,” said Dan, and hadn’t realized he was asking a question until he heard his own voice, lilting up at the end.

“And what are you afraid of happening?” asked Dr. Green, whose stare was disquietingly penetrating.

Dan shrugged. He’d worked with Abby long enough to know where Dr. Green was going with that— _worst case scenario, best case scenario, most likely scenario_ —trying to get his anxiety down to rational, manageable levels (if they were seen together, _would_ anyone, anyone whose opinion mattered, really believe they were—probably not, no). But God, he hated it.

“You know what,” said Casey sharply.

Dr. Green’s gaze flicked back to Casey. “You sound irritated.”

“I am.”

“Not unlike the way you sounded outside the bar.”

“You watched the tape?”

“Casey, what set you off, _specifically,_ about those questions? The questions the reporters asked Dan, or tried to, and the questions I’m asking Dan now?”

Casey looked away, rolling his eyes.

Dan said, “Casey knows about me.”

“Danny—!”

“Casey, he’s a _therapist,_ who’s he going to _tell?_ ” Dan waved a hand around the room. “Doc, you don’t tell the company anything, do you?”

“Only whether you attended these appointments. No content from therapy is shared, with your employer or with anyone else. The only exception to confidentiality is if you tell me you’re planning to hurt yourself or someone else.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not, so.”

“Danny,” said Casey again, a little desperately.

“Calm down, Casey. It’s not that bad. The thing is, Casey knows I’m—he knows about me and—I’ve dated men.”

“I see.”

“So he gets—I think he gets overprotective of me. Because he knows.”

Dr. Green said, “If being outed destroys an athlete’s career, what would it do to a sports anchor?”

Danny laughed hollowly. “Are you kidding me? I’d be gone. I’d be looking for a job doing the local news in some backwoods, Podunk—”

“Don’t,” said Casey.

“So this is a very sensitive topic for you.”

“Damn right it is.” Casey’s jaw kept clenching. “He doesn’t—he shouldn’t have to put up with this shit. Not from you, not from anybody.”

“Casey, he’s just doing his _job._ He’s not trying to entrap me.”

Casey threw his hands in the air wordlessly.

Dr. Green said, “So it sounds like some fear over what could happen if the paparazzi publicly called Dan’s sexual orientation into question was the major driver behind this outburst?”

Casey shrugged sullenly. Dan said, “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Do you think you would have responded differently to a different topic?”

“Like what?” asked Dan. Casey was still silent, fuming.

“If they’d asked about a doping scandal, for example, or sexual assault allegations.”

“Well, yeah.” Dan examined his fingernails. “Those aren’t—they don’t feel so… Personal. Threatening.”

“Do you think the paparazzi were targeting you specifically because there’s suspicion about your sexual orientation?”

Casey sat bolt upright. Dan said, “Yes.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Casey.

“Come on, Casey. You heard them. One of them was about to _say_ it, and that’s when you went ballistic.”

“Was it, Casey?” asked Dr. Green.

Casey huffed irritably and then hastily got up to pace. “Yeah, fine, so I thought that’s where they were going. That’s a bunch of _crap_ and they know it and I know it, and I’m not supposed to say anything about it? I’m supposed to _let_ them talk like that to you?”

“Casey.” Dan shut his eyes, leaning back into the chair. “I can’t afford to get too defensive about it, all right? Since it’s true. I have to laugh it off. That’s all.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to,” said Casey, white-lipped and furious.

“Maybe that’s true, but I do. That’s the way it is right now. I can’t protest too much, don’t you get it?” Dan felt so tired.

“Dan,” said Dr. Green, “can you tell me more about how you felt when the paparazzi ambushed you?”

“It was shitty.”

“Were you worried about being outed?”

“It took me a minute to figure out what was even going on.”

“With the lights, and the yelling?”

“Yeah.”

“And once you realized where they were going with this, how did you feel?”

Dan shrugged. “Not great.”

“What kinds of things went through your head?”

“You know. What if—what if this is when it starts, what if they ask me point-blank, what if that ends up being the news.”

“Did you think they would?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“What would you have said?”

“What do you mean?”

Casey said harshly, “He’s asking if you’d _lie,_ Danny.”

“Oh.” Dan stared at a point on the wall above Dr. Green’s head. There was a framed diploma from Yale right above one for a bachelor’s from UCLA. Next to it was a poster for a music festival in Poughkeepsie, done all in lavender and cerulean blue. “Yeah, probably.”

“ _Danny_.”

“Casey, I don’t know why you would be _surprised_ about that. Am I a hundred percent sure? No. There’s some small chance I’d blurt something out. But I’m pretty committed to _being a sports anchor._ I _love_ my job. I love what I get to do, and I want to spend as much of my life as possible doing it, and if that means pretending I never sucked dick, _fine,_ I’ll do that. I can do that.”

Casey went white and then blotchy red. He turned away. He’d never sat back down.

“Are you concerned that Casey is judging you for being willing to say that you’re straight?”

Dan met Dr. Green’s eyes. “Yeah.”

“ _Are_ you, Casey?”

“No,” said Casey immediately. “I don’t—you shouldn’t have to tell them a damn thing.”

Dr. Green nodded. “So, Casey, what _are_ you feeling?”

“Pissed that they—that they can _ask_ you that, that they can just—it’s bullshit that they can walk in, they don’t even _know_ you, and they make these judgments about you.”

Dan gave him an laconic thumbs-up. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Is that a relief for you, Dan?”

“That Casey doesn’t think I’m trash for lying? Yeah.”

“ _Trash?_ ” asked Casey, incredulous.

“Or whatever.”

“Danny.” Casey sat back down, dragging his chair closer to Dan’s. “You have to know—I—” but then he seemed to run out of words, flailing with his hands.

“You support me. I know. I do know.” Dan tipped his head back and closed his eyes again. “But you have to understand _,_ you’re not doing me any favors if you don’t _let me_ laugh it off. Because if you make a thing about it, they’ll smell blood in the water, and they’ll come after me.”

Casey didn’t have anything to say to that. Dr. Green let them sit in silence for a moment.

“Dan,” said Dr. Green, when he’d apparently judged that the moment was up, “since this is likely to be a trigger point again in the future, how would you feel about doing some role-play?”

“You going to wear a Catwoman outfit? Kinky for the office, but sure.”

Casey smacked him in the shoulder.

“Ow!”

“And that’s what we call boundary setting, although Casey, you can use words next time.” Dr. Green smiled over at Casey. “Dan, we talked about being respectful, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“How would you feel about running through some questions you might get and ways you could approach answering them?”

“Shoot.”

“Dan, are you gay?”

“No.”

“That was easy,” muttered Casey.

“Well, I’m _not,_ ” said Danny. “Are you doubting—You were there for how many women? And for the whole thing with Rebecca. That wasn’t—okay, maybe it wasn’t a good _idea,_ maybe it didn’t go _well,_ but I loved her. We _fucked,_ okay, and it was _good,_ and I miss her, I miss feeling like something was going to go right in my love life for once, so do me a favor and don’t pretend she wasn’t _important_ to me.”

Casey had gone still, looking down at his feet. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Yeah.”

“Dan,” said Dr. Green, “are you bisexual?”

“No,” said Dan. The terrifying thing was how easily it rolled off his tongue: smooth, calm. Like a man who’d heard the question before and was just a smidge bored with it. Urbane, even.

“And that’s a lie?” asked Dr. Green. He sounded mildly interested. His face was open and friendly.

“Yeah,” said Dan. “It is. I am—I’m bisexual.”

“All right. Let’s explore how you might be asked about that, and what kinds of strategies you could employ beyond outright denial.”

It was a long hour.

 

After the session, Casey couldn’t look at Danny. They walked through the hall of the sleek, modern office building in silence. He knew Danny was drained—Danny looked exhausted—and he knew he should do something, say something, be more supportive.

But hearing Danny, over and over and _over_ again, tranquilly denying that he liked men in any way, delivering a bland, monotonous lie, wasn’t easy. Casey had found his fists clenching, his jaw tightening, and he’d forced himself to relax. Over. And over. _And over._

“God, I need…” Danny trailed off as they hit the sidewalk. “I don’t even know.”

Casey shook his head. “I’ve got to—I need to go.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Danny managed a wan smile for him. It hurt to look at, because Casey knew it _was_ for him, that Danny was trying to be okay _for him._ Danny took a deep breath and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, across his cheekbone, closing his eyes. “I think I’m going to go home and take something for this headache.”

“Danny. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Danny’s eyes got suspiciously bright for a second, until he blinked and the sheen went away. “I know you’d change things if you could.”

“I’d change everything if I could,” said Casey, and didn’t hear himself for a second. When he did, it was because of the quizzical look Danny shot him.

Casey ran a hand over his hair as a cab pulled up. Should he—but Danny was waving him into the cab, saying goodbye with a quick, drawn smile.

 

Dan saw Abby on Friday. He’d seen her the day before the incident, and when he walked in to her office, he was already dreading telling her about it.

“Dan,” she said pleasantly. “You want to tell me what that thing on the news was?”

So she knew. There was a certain amount of relief in that. He spilled it to her immediately—the therapy, the suspension—and she nodded, listening carefully.

“Is this bringing up some of your old feelings?”

He folded his arms, leaning back. “Maybe. I don’t—ugh. Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I never felt good enough. And this was just one _more_ thing, you know? One more fucking thing. One more obstacle between Danny Rydell and the future I wanted. I wanted to _be_ somebody, not some nebbish in an office with a calculator.”

“So you’re being forced to confront those old fears about whether you deserve to be where you are?”

“I guess. On some level, I _know_ I do. I’ve earned this. I’ve worked hard. But then—if people knew me, if they really saw me, they’d kick me out. For this, if not for anything else.”

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“It isn’t. But it’s actually, knock on wood, it’s actually fine.” He rapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden end-table that held the box of tissues. “I feel like I’m doing a lot better with this than I would have a year ago.”

“Well, a year ago you were in a pretty different place.”

“You’re telling me. I was _there._ ”

“You were agonizing over everything with Rebecca.”

“Yeah.”

“Which did not end well.”

“No, it did not.”

“You feel like you’re handling this?”

“For me? Yeah. It’s not like I’m perfect, but I’m not getting back into that place.” _That place:_ how Danny described the sensation, at once profound and utterly mundane, that everything was ruined, it was all his fault, it always would be, and if he had any sense of decency he’d off himself and save the world the trouble of dealing with him.

Abby had understood. Abby understood a lot of things.

“How about Casey?”

“He’s still being kind of weird about it.”

“What’s weird?”

“He takes it so hard. It’s like I’m his kid brother or something and he wants to _protect_ me from the big bad tabloids.”

“Do you think he feels responsible for you?”

“Yeah. I know he does.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Dan rolled his shoulders back, stretching them out. He had a habit of sitting hunched over in these sessions that was murder on his neck muscles. “It’s fine. It used to bother me more, but it’s just Casey being Casey.”

She watched him for a minute. He looked back at her. It wasn’t as hard as it had been, back in the beginning.

“I think it’s good that you’re handling this. I also think it’s good that you and Casey are having to talk about feelings in the same room. He’s your closest friend, and developing your ability to talk with each other about what you’re feeling is probably good for you.”

“Yeah. I think so, too.”

“He may need you to help him. You’ve been doing this—” she waved at the office, encompassing them both—“for a while now, and he hasn’t. So in some ways, you speak the local lingo.”

“I know.”

“If you see him struggling, throw him a line.”

He flashed a smile at her. “Will do.”

“It’s almost Father’s Day.”

“I know. Casey’s got Charlie for the morning.”

“That’s good. You’re going to call your dad?”

“I am.”

“How do you expect that to go?”

Dan laughed unintentionally. “Not great, Abby! Not great.”

“Tell me why.”

“We haven’t talked about the suspension. He probably knows.”

“If he doesn’t, are you going to tell him?”

“I deeply don’t want to, but yeah. Probably.”

“And why is that?”

Dan half-turned in the chair for no particular reason; he always felt _pressured_ at visits with Abby—pressure to be something, someone, even if he didn’t yet have a clear sense of who that person was going to be.

“Because a good relationship isn’t about lying to get away from uncomfortable conversations. And even if he doesn’t put in the work for a good relationship with _me,_ I can make—I can make my own choices. I can try for my sake.” Dan shrugged. “So I’m not carrying around _as_ many regrets.”

Abby nodded, watching him. “Right on,” she said softly.

 

Saturday was uneventful. Casey didn’t call. And Sunday morning Casey had Charlie, so Dan didn’t expect to hear from him.

The call with his father went about like he’d expected: his dad’s voice hard with disapproval. And where the media in general hadn’t gone, his dad _did._

“They know something I don’t know, Danny?”

“No, Dad.” Dan rested his forehead against the glass of the window. The sun was already beaming down, and the glass wasn’t as cool as he would have liked.

“All right, then.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to talk to your mother?”

“Sure. Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

“Yeah,” his dad said with a grunt. He’d gotten a monosyllabic thanks for the new wallet; Dan hadn’t known what to get and had eventually just let the saleswoman at Nordstrom’s choose.

His mom came on the line. At least that was easier.

 

He was puttering around later on Sunday when his buzzer sounded.

“Yeah?” he asked through the intercom.

“It’s me,” said Casey.

“Come on up.” Dan left the door cracked.

Casey came in, hands jammed in his pockets. Dan raised his eyebrows. “No beer? No snacks?”

Casey looked pleased with himself. “There will be beer and snacks where we’re going.”

“Wait a second—”

“Come on, Dan. Get your shoes on.” Casey nudged him with one elbow. “We’re going to Shea.”

“No way, you got tickets?”

“I did indeed.”

“Are they any good?”

“No, they are not.”

Dan sighed, dragging his left sneaker out from underneath the couch. “Did you tell them we’re very important sports personalities?”

“I did not. And do you know why?”

“Because, despite all your protestations to the contrary, you don’t actually like baseball that much?”

“Pshaw. I love baseball. It’s a mistake to see baseball as _only_ a sport, Danny, it is also a cultural moment, a shared experience uniting a stadium full of people from disparate backgrounds, with—”

“These were the best tickets left?”

“They _were,_ but I’d like to point out that it also gives us a certain level of freedom we don’t always have when we witness sports events as commentators or anchors rather than pure spectators. In this role, tonight, we can simply enjoy the beauty of the game as it is played, as well as the satisfying refreshment of hot dogs and as many overpriced cups of cheap beer as we can handle.”

Dan couldn’t help laughing out loud as he locked his door on the way out. “You’re a maniac, my young friend. Your gift for prose at times leaves you vulnerable to a certain kind of madness.”

Casey didn’t seem to mind. He kept smiling at Dan, cheerful, even perhaps carefree.

They talked the Mets versus the Yankees until they got to Shea Stadium, and then they had some words about just _how_ bad their seats were, but once they’d settled in and gotten beer and food (a chili dog for Dan, because he lived on the edge and never mind Casey’s dire pronouncements about coronary artery disease and peptic ulcers), Dan had to admit that he was having a good time.

“Oh!” said Casey, smacking his thigh. “Astacio’s not doing half-bad tonight.”

“So far. The Yankees have a line-up that could wear him down.”

“He’s got to take it one out at a time.”

“That is correct.”

“There goes Bernie Williams, though—there it is.” The pop fly had been caught neatly.

“Case.”

“Yeah?” Casey looked over him, distracted briefly.

“Thanks,” said Dan. It wasn’t enough; it couldn’t be enough, to say _for getting me out of the apartment,_ or _for getting me out of my head,_ or even _being willing to be seen with me in public._

Casey’s mouth wobbled at the corners for a second before curving up into a smile, big and bright, a genuine 24-karat smile.

Casey looked back at the field, still smiling. “Any time.”

“You have a good time with Charlie?”

“You know it. We went to a movie he wanted to see, got some lunch, talked about a lot of nothing.”

“Sounds like a good day.”

“It was.” Casey leaned forward, looking out over the field. “How was—did you talk to your dad?”

“Yeah.” Dan exhaled, long and heavily. Casey winced sympathetically.

“He’s pissed?”

“I’ve disgraced the Rydell name yet again.”

“Yikes.”

“It’s okay. Abby… Abby helps a lot with that shit.”

“Good.” Casey clapped his hand on Dan’s shoulder, rubbing with his thumb, digging into the tendon in a keenly comforting way. There was an awkward second where they both remembered—and Casey squeezed one more time before dropping his hand back into his lap.

“Thanks, man.”

Casey shook his head and then shifted, craning for a better look. “Hey, is Jeter still favoring that knee?”

“Oh, yeah.”

There was singing, Frank Sinatra Jr. doing “New York, New York,” and lots of cheering.

By the time the game was over (the Mets coming back with three runs for a tight victory over the Yankees, to general delight), Dan had imbibed far too much pathetically expensive watered-down beer, visited the restroom without missing any action, felt his chili dog settle in his stomach in a familiar burning lump, and reached something approaching inner peace. Screw apple pie; baseball was the salve for America’s wounds.

“The Mets needed this one,” Dan was saying as they got on the train.

“The Mets _always_ need it.”

“True.”

“Still, it’s good to watch someone make the Yankees eat it.”

“ _Very_ true.”

There was no room to sit; they stood side by side, alternating between comfortable silence and humorously unkind opinions about the Yankees and the Mets in turn.

When they got to Grand Central, Casey said, “I wanted—it seemed like we should have some fun.”

“I did.” Dan wasn’t sure where Casey was going with that, but nodded earnestly.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Despite the seats?”

Dan laughed. “Perhaps even because of the seats. You may have had a point.”

“About the shared cultural experience?”

“The shared cultural experience of beer and greasy food.”

“And shouting.”

“And the shouting, let’s not forget that.”

Casey was watching him carefully, and then Casey smiled, fleeting but happy. “Good.”

They shared a cab. It dropped Casey off first.

“See you tomorrow,” said Casey.

“Yeah,” said Dan with a sigh. Tomorrow meant Monday; Monday meant the shrink again. But with ears still ringing from the stadium noise, feeling agreeably full and just barely on the edge of getting buzzed, it was easier to contemplate the session with equanimity.

When he got home he propped his feet up on the coffee table, drank one of the expensive lambics he kept in the crisper instead of lettuce, and let himself remember the way Casey had smiled at him. How Casey had engineered the evening, probably at least in part to excavate Dan from the shadowy depression of his condo.

Casey’s elbow had been pressed against Dan’s most of the night, on and off, as Casey ate and shifted and yelled and clenched his fists along with the action. Sometimes their knees brushed.

Dan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a _saint._

 

When Dan showed up to Dr. Green’s, exactly on time, he was ushered back in to find that Casey was already there. Dr. Green smiled at them with that remote benevolence that Dan found suspect.

“How have things been since the last visit?” asked Dr. Green.

Casey shrugged. “Fine. I got to see Charlie for Father’s Day, that was good.”

“Have you told him about the suspension?”

“Yeah, he knows. I told him I lost my temper and yelled at some people, and that I was wrong to do that, and that sometimes it’s hard even for grown-ups to be nice to people but it’s still important to try.” Casey sighed. “I _hate_ getting into that with him.”

“Why is that?”

“Who doesn’t want his son to look up to him? I know he knows I’ve got issues. The divorce wasn’t pretty. But I’d rather he see me being the kind of man he’d like to grow up to be, not a cautionary tale.”

“That seems like a reasonable goal. How can you be more like the man you’d like to be?”

“I don’t know. Control my temper, I suppose.”

“Did you find yourself trying any of the techniques we’ve talked about?”

“Uh, yeah, actually. Some jackass cut in line in front of us at the game and I did that mindfulness thing? Concentrating on feeling the air move when I breathed?”

“Was it helpful?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good. What game was it?”

“Mets and Yankees yesterday.”

“That was a pretty good one.”

“It was.” Casey leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “Not half bad.”

“You went with Dan?”

“Yeah.” Casey glanced over at Dan. Dan nodded.

“Run into any trouble?”

Dan shook his head. “No. No photographers. Just a good night out.”

“I’m glad. Did _you_ have any occasion to try the techniques we’ve talked about?”

“Yeah, but I mean, my therapist has gone over those with me before.”

“Did you see her last week?”

“Friday.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. She, uh, she agreed with you that this kind of therapy is a different beast than individual therapy.”

Dr. Green gave him a one-sided smile. “Good to hear.”

“Anyway, I think I’m doing better with this than I would have in the past.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Have you started working on the apology?”

Dan and Casey turned to look at each other.

“No,” said Casey.

“Do you have a sense for what you’d want to say?”

Dan bit his lip in thought. “I mean, it shouldn’t be hard. We were approached by media on our time off, asked to give our thoughts about a difficult situation, and we made some comments that we regret.”

“We know our role in our viewers’ lives is a privilege and we regret any distress that our language caused them. We’ve taken steps to ensure that we’re better prepared for such situations in the future.” Casey cracked a couple of knuckles.

“Maybe we should tell Trager that we can cut the apology to thirty seconds.”

“We don’t have that much to say.”

“Hm,” said Dr. Green. “And what about your show’s coverage of Bobby Blankenship?”

They both went quiet.

“Did you watch it?”

Casey coughed. “Yeah.”

Dan nodded.

“What did you think?”

“What did I _think?_ ” asked Casey sharply. “I thought it was a damn shame we had to cover it at all. I thought, considering the circumstances, we were as decent as we could be.”

“They did a bit about homophobia in sports.” Dan was sitting with one leg bent, fidgeting with his shoelace. “It wasn’t bad.”

“It seems like the homophobia is fairly pervasive.”

Dan tipped his head slightly. “That would be correct.”

“So why does Casey know about you?”

The silence _that_ time stretched. It stretched on and on.

“What do you mean?” Dan finally asked.

“Is it because you trusted him?” Dr. Green spread his hands. “It’s a big thing to tell someone about yourself, and it can be an important milestone in a friendship. I’m wondering whether you talked to him because of the strength of that relationship.”

Casey choked on half a laugh.

“No,” said Dan. “Not… It wasn’t some kind of…”

He trailed off and they sat in silence for what felt like a million years. The tension built until Dan couldn’t take it.

“I kissed him.”

Casey’s head jerked around. He stared at Dan.

“I _told_ you, he’s a _shrink,_ he’s not going to tell anyone!” Dan gestured at Casey impatiently. “Get over it. Now he knows your dirty little secret. You got kissed, _once,_ by a dude, _me,_ and that was that.”

“That was that?” asked Dr. Green, blinking owlishly behind his glasses.

“That was that,” echoed Casey dully.

“It was—I was _stupid,_ I was nineteen, Casey was getting married. I didn’t like Lisa. I _did_ like Casey. He’s—” Dan waved to encompass Casey’s entire frame; Casey looked vaguely apoplectic and drew his legs in again until he was sitting at ninety-degree angles, stiff and formal. “He is what he is.” Dan gave Casey a half-smile, apology and compliment in one. “And I drank then, I drank a _lot,_ and one night we were drinking and I tried it on and it was really, really awkward and went _nowhere_ fast, but he didn’t punch me or throw a fit about it, and we just—we moved on.”

“How did you feel about that, Casey?” asked Dr. Green, looking over to Casey, who was staring at the ground. Casey’s face had gone a dark, unhealthy-looking red.

“Excuse me,” said Casey, and he got up and left.

Dan and Dr. Green stared at the door.

“Huh,” said Dan. “I guess he wasn’t as okay with that as I thought.”

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Does he do that often?”

“Dramatically storm out? I can’t say he _never_ does it.”

“Well.” Dr. Green rocked back in his chair. “This is going to be a lot less productive without both of you here.”

“Are you going to make us do an extra session?”

“No. The deal was he had to show up to all four, and he did show up today. _Don’t_ take that as permission to skip out early on Thursday.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Dr. Green?”

“Yes?”

“Are you actually a Deadhead?”

“Why do you ask?”

“It just seems like that’s a thing you do so people underestimate you and then you can come back at them with the ol’ one-two.” Dan half-heartedly shadow-boxed to demonstrate.

“It’s important to be authentic in this setting. Can’t create a meaningful therapeutic bond without it.” Dr. Green twinkled a small grin at him. “But it is possible that I find a certain freedom in appearing, shall we say, nonthreatening.”

“I knew it.” Dan pointed at him. “Yalie. You all play the long game.”

Dr. Green leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “How do you feel about Casey taking off like that?”

“Not great, but he’ll get over it. It’s this—he does this whole macho thing. He’s probably embarrassed that I brought it up. God knows why, he was in a _frat,_ he was probably run naked through the woods and paddled for hazing, but as soon as it’s _actually_ about sex it’s weird.”

“Do the two of you generally talk about your intimate relationships?”

Dan shrugged. “A little bit. Here and there.”

“You don’t talk much about sex?”

“Not much, no.”

“Interesting.”

“He’s pretty uptight. He was raised Methodist, and I don’t think he ever shook it.”

“I see. Married young?”

“To his sweetheart from freshman year of college.”

“And you made a move on him when they were engaged?”

“Made a move sounds so… vintage. Does anyone say that anymore?”

Dr. Green smiled tolerantly, but he didn’t look amused. “I just did and you knew what I meant, so continue.”

“I… I did. Like I said, it was dumb. I did a _lot_ of dumb stuff then. I was beating myself up about my brother—he died, you know, my brother Sam—and I just wanted to hurt myself however I could, and sometimes that was—sometimes it looked like throwing myself at people I knew didn’t want me. People I knew I couldn’t have.”

“It sounds like you’ve talked about this with your therapist.”

“Oh, yeah. Especially after—there was this whole thing where I insulted him on air a couple of years ago. Abby and I talked about that, a lot, and my whole history with Casey. And this came up.”

“I imagine it would.”

“So it’s not like—I feel like I’ve dealt with it, you know? And I guess I didn’t think about whether Casey had or not, because we don’t—it’s not something we ever talked about. It just happened, he kind of pushed me off, I went home. Do I feel bad about it? Sure. But I don’t think it really got in the way of our friendship. He knew I was a dumb kid.”

“And you think he’s been protective about you over this.”

“I know he has.” Dan shook his head. “He’ll be fine, but he might not be back today.”

“That’s all right.” Dr. Green tossed a mini Koosh ball into the air and caught it as it came down. “Let’s kill the time anyway. Tell me about Casey.”

Half an hour later, Dan had Dr. Green laughing with a story about the time Casey tried to go on a blind date with one of Kim’s friends, who was ten years younger than he was and smart as a whip.

“—so she _corrected_ his quote from Dante, and when he was telling me about it he was _so steamed,_ it was _hilarious._ He always thinks he wants to date a brain surgeon but then he has to be the smartest person there. He needs somebody to deflate that ego.”

“I bet he does.”

Dan rolled his eyes at himself, smiling. “ _Sometimes_ that’s me.”

“Oh, man,” said Dr. Green, wiping his eyes. “Dan, I’m sorry, but our time’s about up.”

“All right. See you on Thursday. I’ll make sure Casey shows.” Dan lightly slapped the doorframe as he exited.

 

He called Casey when he got back to his condo. Casey didn’t pick up. “Hey, man,” said Dan to Casey’s answering machine, “Dr. Green’s not going to dock you any points for storming off today, but—”

“I didn’t _storm,_ ” said Casey, picking up the phone.

“Oh, good, you’re there. Anyway, you have to show up on Thursday. And he’s not wrong, we should talk about the apology we’re going to do. Just bang out a draft.”

“I—” Casey sounded stifled. “Sure. Fine.”

“You want me to come over tomorrow? I’ll bring my laptop, you provide beer.”

“Okay.”

“How about—oh, or we can do take-out. I’ll pick something up on the way over. Like sixish?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay, man? You sound weird. I know that was heavy today.”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Casey said and hung up on him, which was unusual. Dan blinked at the phone, shrugged to himself, and turned off the cordless, abandoning it to the clutter of the coffee table.

 

Dan tried to call Casey about what he wanted for dinner the next night, but Casey didn’t pick up. Maybe he was out getting beer.

When Dan arrived, toting his laptop in a messenger bag that looked really cool but always made his shoulder hurt, Casey answered the door. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants that said _Michigan U_ along the side, and he looked brooding.

“Uh-oh,” said Dan, shouldering by so he could drop his bag at the dining table and start setting up his laptop. The bag of take-out went into the fridge; it was early yet for dinner. “What’s up?”

“Danny.” Casey ran a hand over his face. “When you—when you kissed me, what were you thinking?”

Dan glanced up, surprised. “That you were cute? That I liked you? That can’t be news, Case, we always got along like a house on fire.”

“No, I mean, that night—what—was there something _different?_ ”

“It’s been over a decade. I honestly don’t remember. I was—maybe I thought there was a vibe, okay? And I was wrong. It’s not important.”

“You weren’t wrong,” said Casey.

“What?”

But Casey had stepped in, close to him, close enough for Dan to see the naked terror in his face. “You weren’t _wrong_ ,” Casey repeated in a whisper.

“Casey,” said Dan slowly. He still had the power cord in his hand. He set it down on the table behind him without looking, fumbling, listening to it clatter.

“I _couldn’t_ —I was getting married. I was—we were going to be on _television,_ there were so many reasons. Good reasons. But you weren’t wrong.”

Dan shut his eyes. His heart had started pounding.

“Do it again.”

“Do—” Dan blinked his eyes open, and then blinked a few more times for good measure. “You want me to—”

Casey was so _close,_ and they got in each other’s faces all the time, it was just part of what they did, only—only this was different, Dan was getting dizzy—

Casey licked his lips. “Yeah.”

“Why—”

“What, you want to wait _another_ ten years to talk about it again?” said Casey sharply. “Yeah, that sounds like a _great_ idea. Danny, just, just do it—”

Dazed, Dan leaned in, an infinitesimal bit at a time. Casey wasn’t moving. He wasn’t—(last time, that first time, Dan had gone for it quickly and mashed his mouth against Casey’s, and there had been a moment when Casey sucked in a startled breath where he’d _thought_ —but then Casey’s hands had landed on his chest and pushed him back, and he’d apologized a thousand times to Casey’s stunned, red face, and run away into the night with his tail between his legs. And then they’d never talked about it again, except—)

They made contact, Dan’s lips touching Casey’s. Dan had closed his eyes in the last few centimeters.

Casey exhaled heavily. Dan tensed, ready to pull back, but Casey grabbed Danny’s arms just above his elbows and yanked him in. He was just off-balance enough to stumble half a step forward, and then Casey was kissing him furiously, desperately.

When Casey released him, Dan wavered, putting a hand behind him blindly to grab the back of the chair he’d been leaning against. He didn’t fall down, but it was a close thing.

“Do you still want to?” murmured Casey, arms creeping around Dan’s waist.

“What?” asked Dan faintly.

“Do you—Dan, if I’m going to be an idiot, I’d rather not be an idiot _alone,_ here.” Casey squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m asking—if you—”

“ _You?_ Yes, of course, God, yes, why—what—”

Casey didn’t let him finish a question he didn’t know how to ask anyway. Casey kissed him until he was panting, almost sobbing, rubbing up against Casey’s leg; Casey was hard, too, pushing _back,_ and it was too much to take. Dan had to turn away and rest his forehead against Casey’s cheek.

“I want to suck you,” Casey said in his ear. Dan jerked, wanting desperately to look _cooler_ about it, but all he could manage was a garbled noise of agreement, trying to say _yes_ and _sure_ and _oui_ and _okay_ and _all right_ all together.

Casey wrestled with the button fly—if Dan had only had some _warning_ he wouldn’t have _gone_ with a button fly—and Dan thought he heard a seam give at the end, when Casey wrenched it apart, but then he didn’t _care,_ because Casey’s _mouth_ was on his _dick_ and he groaned, loudly, knowing he didn’t have much time, he wanted to come, he _needed_ to come, if only, if only—and Casey clearly hadn’t done this much if ever but it didn’t matter because Casey’s mouth was so hot and so wet. Casey was practically choking himself on Dan’s cock in his eagerness to get it further down his throat, Dan hanging on for dear life to the chair with both hands, trying not to thrust. Until Casey wrapped one broad hand around his dick and then got the rest of it all the way into his mouth, pumping with his hand in long sweeps of pure radiating pleasure and sucking at the same time, and Dan gave it up, shouting something unintelligible, half-delirious, as Casey swallowed.

Dan sank to his knees. Casey caught him under his arms, easing him down to the floor.

Dan turned, looking for Casey’s mouth, his precious, _brilliant_ mouth, and found it. Casey made a small shocked noise as Dan kissed him, and then Casey’s hands were in Dan’s hair, tightening painfully, holding him close.

They were close enough, knee to knee, that Casey could rub against him, his dick rock-hard and straining through the fabric of his sweatpants. Dan reached down and landed a palm on the outline of it, clumsy with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Casey’s dick twitched under his hand. “I,” managed Dan. “Can I—”

Casey was already yanking his sweats down.

“Oh, Jesus,” said Casey when Dan wrapped his bare hand around Casey’s dick. “Oh, _please_.”

Dan stroked a few times, cautious but getting firmer, tighter, Casey starting to tremble. He could probably finish Casey off like this; maybe even _should,_ but—

Danny pushed Casey back, down until Casey was lying on the floor, propping himself up on his elbows looking puzzled—until Dan opened his mouth and Casey realized what was happening. He couldn’t seem to look away from Dan, watching hungrily, so Dan kept his eyes open, too, and met Casey’s wide-eyed stare while he went down.

Casey moaned, deep and resonant, when Dan slid his lips over Casey’s dick. After a minute or two, Dan reached up to cup Casey’s balls, tugging gently, and Casey came. Silently but convulsively, jackknifing with each pulse, until he dropped to the floor and flung an arm up to drape over his face. He was beet-red and sweaty, his hair pointing in fifteen different directions. It was wildly endearing.

Dan hesitated, not sure what to do next—lie down next to him? Run away, very far and very fast?—but Casey said hoarsely, “Gimme a sec,” so Dan just dropped his head to rest it on Casey’s stomach, still quivering with fast breaths and tremors.

Casey put his other hand in Dan’s hair. For a second Dan’s shoulders stiffened, but then he realized that Casey was stroking his hair, gentle and tender, and he remembered that Casey had done that back before—before the first kiss. Part of the _vibe._

He hadn’t thought about it, but Casey had stopped doing it after that. Casey had stopped doing a lot of things.

“I didn’t _know_ before you,” Casey mumbled into the crook of his arm. “And then there was—getting married, and it was too _late,_ and then after, I thought—you didn’t seem—”

“You thought I wasn’t _interested?_ What am I, insane?” Dan stroked the edge of his thumb along Casey’s stomach, a few inches from where Dan’s face was resting. The muscles twitched.

“’M ticklish,” Casey said. “Not fair. Stoppit.”

“Fine, fine.”

“It’s—it’s really stupid,” said Casey, more clearly, taking his arm off his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Dan could see that Casey was staring up at the ceiling. “It’s easier—I told myself it’s easier if you don’t _have_ anything to hide. But it hasn’t—I can’t stop _thinking_ about you, and I just want—” He rubbed small circles on Dan’s scalp, smoothing his fingers through Dan’s hair. “I want _this,_ I want it. Danny—if you don’t—tell me—”

“I do,” said Dan. His brain was screaming, quietly, behind the scenes. “I really do.”

“Oh, thank God.” Casey sighed.

They lay like that, in stunned silence, Casey petting Dan’s hair, for a while. Dan wasn’t sure how long. He was a bit dopey, he always got that way after sex, and he found himself yawning.

“I have this novel idea,” said Casey.

“Mm?”

“It’s called sleeping in a _bed._ ”

“Mkay.”

Casey laughed softly; the vibration buzzed through his chest, into Dan’s ears. “Come on.”

“Any second now,” muttered Dan, drifting again.

Casey heaved them both up, forcing Dan to reluctantly stagger to his feet. He shot Casey a look of reproach that Casey ignored completely. Dan couldn’t look at Casey for more than a few seconds at a time. It seemed too unreal.

He stopped in the bathroom and then, limbs like lead, collapsed into Casey’s bed.

He thought maybe if he ignored hard enough that this was insane, he’d be allowed to keep doing it.

Fifteen years ago, he’d been at a bar once, drunk with Lisa and Casey and half a dozen of their friends for Lisa’s birthday. That was before Lisa didn’t like him, before Lisa resented how work and Dan and Dana ate into her time with Casey like acid rain eroding limestone. Lisa had confided to him, somewhere in the middle of a Long Island Iced Tea, laughing with drink-flushed cheeks, _He pretends he’s a hardass but you should see him. He’s such a cuddly guy. Like a big teddy bear._ At the time he’d laughed along with the joke, but as Casey rolled over and fit his chest against Dan’s back, hooking his heel over Dan’s ankle, the conversation came back to him.

It was too hot. They were both sweaty and sticky. He should drink a glass of water, he should take a shower, he should—but sleep hit him and he was out.

 

Casey woke up with a sense of profound well-being. He was warm, he was comfortable. He was _happy,_ in a way he couldn’t remember having been for years. He blinked his eyes open blearily to see the back of Danny’s head, the curve of his ear silhouetted against the glow from the bedside alarm clock.

He moved his head carefully. Nine o’clock; he was hungry.

“Hey,” said Danny quietly. So he was awake. Had been, from the sound of his voice, clear where Casey still felt woolly with sleep.

“Hi.” Casey tightened his arm around Danny, hardly aware of it until it was done.

“I was thinking.” Danny sounded meditative, lucid. It gave Casey chills.

“Do tell.”

“I wasn’t sure how to say this without _sounding like your ex-wife,_ ” Danny said, voice cold, and Casey could remember saying almost those exact words to him in a fight years ago.

“Are we fighting already?” Casey asked in a sort of hollow despair, anger curling in his stomach. “We’ve been going out for _three hours_ and I was _asleep_ for two of them, how are we already fighting?”

“We’re going out?”

“That’s what I—” Casey stopped. “Did you not _want_ —”

He felt like his face was on fire; his head was going to explode. If Danny only wanted—if he’d been _wrong_ —oh, he had fucked it up _big_ time, hadn’t he. Hadn’t he.

“You don’t know what I want?” asked Danny, still too light, too casual.

“I thought—I thought we were on the same page.” Casey still hadn’t let go of Danny. Some part of his brain was telling him to, telling him that _clinging_ like this was so _needy,_ but it was the first time in his life he’d been able to hold Danny as much as he wanted to; by God, he’d make the most of it.

“Tell me what page that is.”

“I—” Casey took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. In an absurd corner of his mind there were the instructions for triangular breathing: _in, pause, out._ “Something serious. Okay? Something—long-term. I know—it’s going to be tough to keep it going when we’re not out. I know. But I think we could. I think we could make it work, in spite of everything.” He was starting to babble, wasn’t he? Oh, God, he was naked in bed and starting to babble to try to keep someone from leaving him. He had _nightmares_ that were better than this.

“You didn’t ask me what I wanted,” said Danny. “You said ‘this’ and you said it _while we were naked_ and when I woke up I started thinking, well, shit, what if he meant ‘let’s be naked together more often and in more recreational ways’ and I meant something else completely?”

“What _did_ you mean? What do you want?”

Danny sighed, pulled the pillow out from under his own head, and then turned and whacked Casey in the face with it. “Something _serious,_ you doofus.” Even in the dark, Casey could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve been _freaking out_ and you’ve been _sleeping_ like a fucking log.”

“You should have woken me up!”

“I wasn’t going to wake you _up,_ what are you, nuts?”

“Obviously!” Casey said, aware it didn’t entirely make sense but hoping to convey both his irritation and his relief.

“You were sleeping!”

“You should wake me up.” Casey reached up as Danny subsided back onto the bed and pulled him in for a kiss. “I don’t want—you shouldn’t be freaking out alone.”

“Oh, you want to be awake so you can help me freak out?”

“Yeah.”

“Casey…” He could feel Danny’s breath on his face.

“What?”

Danny was quiet for a moment and then said plaintively, “I’m fucking _starving._ ”

“There’s take-out! You put it in the fridge, right?”

“I did.”

“You know where the forks are.”

“I do.”

“Look, for future reference, if you’re freaking out, wake me up. If you’re hungry, get the food. Eat the food. That is the entire function of the food in this world, to be eaten.”

Danny was laughing again. “Fine, fine!”

“Also, _I’m_ starving.”

“You didn’t offer to bring me food, I’m not bringing any to _you._ ”

“Ugh, fine. I’m turning on the light.”

“Oh, no,” groaned Danny as Casey hit the switch on the bedside lamp and the room was flooded with an obnoxious yellow glow. It was too bright, and his eyes took a second to adjust.

And then he was looking at Danny, and Danny was looking back at him. He was looking at Danny, and Danny looked so good there in the mess of Casey’s utilitarian navy-blue bedding, grinning and naked and shading his face from the light.

Casey had to kiss him again. He had to reach out and put his fingers on Danny’s jaw, holding him in place. Danny seemed struck, or spellbound, and when Casey leaned in Danny turned his head the slightest bit while holding his breath, until their lips met.

“I’m—” Danny said after a minute. “I need _dinner_ —”

“I’m not stopping you,” said Casey grandly, but his stomach ruined it by growling. They both cracked up.

Danny wore a pair of Casey’s sweats, which hung loosely on his hips but stayed up, and was halfway through a carton of chicken tikka masala when he stopped suddenly.

“I shouldn’t stay tonight,” said Danny.

Casey looked down into his carton of butter chicken. “I know.”

“For—for all the same reasons as the other night.”

“I know.”

“I kind of want to, though.”

Casey looked up in a hurry. “I want you to.”

“Even though it’s stupid?”

“Even though it’s stupid.”

Casey grinned at Danny. Danny smiled back, looking goofy and soft and incredible.

 

They spent all day Wednesday in bed. Casey kept saying—well, wheezing really—that he was in no shape for these kinds of calisthenics, but Dan would smile and touch him and within a couple of minutes Casey would be panting and they’d be starting all over again.

“We have to see Dr. Green tomorrow,” said Casey, muffled by the towel he was using to dry his hair.

“So we do.”

“Many things have happened since Monday.”

“Many fine and wonderful things.” Dan lightly slapped Casey’s ass; Casey tried to look mad, but the thing about seeing him naked was that he couldn’t hide the twitch in his cock.

“I’m wondering what the plan is.”

“Plan?”

“Do we—”

“Oh, like tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“God.”

“I know.”

“Let’s get a pizza and think about it.”

“Sounds good.”

But after the pizza they got distracted, and when the alarm went off the next morning, they still didn’t have a plan.

 

Marty surveyed the two men before him.

At first glance, they looked a lot like the men who had come to his office a week and a half prior. However, he prided himself on his ability to notice subtle changes, or in this case: totally and completely unsubtle changes.

“Gentlemen,” he said. They both gave him small waves. “I think that sometimes, when there’s an elephant in the room, the best thing to do is address it up front.”

They traded alarmed glances, Casey looking shamefaced but determined; he probably thought he was going to get a lecture about splitting early at their last appointment. Hah. He _wished._

“You’re both covered in hickeys.”

Dan clapped a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes going wide; Casey grabbed the front of his own shirt and yanked it out, peering down at his collarbone.

“I don’t understand why neither of you _warned_ the other about that.”

“I didn’t notice!” Casey was craning, trying to see. “God _damn_ it!”

“Where—” said Dan, the more sensible of the two.

“Nah, nah, I’m just screwing with you. I had a hunch. You just confirmed it.”

“I _knew_ that friendly hippie act was bullshit!” Casey stabbed a finger at him. “You—you—Freudian cultist!”

“Oh, do be fair, now. We haven’t really worshipped Freud in ages. It’s barely a biannual pigeon sacrifice at the altar to Skinner these days.”

“I can’t _believe_ you!” said Dan. “Abby would _never_.”

“We could have spent the next forty-five minutes dancing around this, or we could get it out of the way and move on to productive topics.”

Casey was folding his arms aggressively. “So why don’t you tell _me_ what you think happened?”

“I think you didn’t realize Dan still had the hots for you and as soon as you did you freaked out. Was the crisis about your sexual orientation new or old?”

Casey looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel, but it really _was_ the most efficient way. “Old,” he eventually gritted out.

“Do you want to talk about it? It might be helpful with keeping your temper in the event that people come after Dan again, which they probably will.”

“ _No._ ”

“We can revisit that later in this session. And honestly, Casey, given your history? You should look into either individual therapy or couples’ therapy. I’m not kidding. One divorce raises your risk of subsequent divorces steeply.” He nodded between the two of them. “This is clearly the single most important non-blood relationship in either of your lives. You’re enmeshed. Breaking up would be a hell of a shame, but more than that, it would leave you without emotional support. You should work on the other relationships in your lives. Create some new ones, even.”

“I’m praying for your immediate death,” Casey muttered.

“That’s fine, but you should think about it. Dan, that’s something for you to consider as well. Casey is a good guy, but he’s got a lot of ideas about masculinity that are going to trip you both up, and you do, too. You’ve both got to deal with that at some point if you’re going to have a mutually fulfilling relationship.”

Dan put his hands over his eyes. “Oh, my God,” he mumbled. “Were the Catholics right all along? Am I in Hell?”

“Nah, come on. That’s the hard part. See? Like ripping off a band-aid.” Marty grinned at them. “You’re doing fine, boys. Now tell me about how you’re doing with emotional communication since this thing has changed.”

Casey looked outraged at being awarded a diminutive, but he was easily sidetracked. Marty dragged the details out of them about the initial fight.

“Dan, what would you do differently if you had the chance to go back and start that differently?”

Dan shrugged awkwardly. “Probably… ask him what was happening as soon as I realized I didn’t know.”

“There you go. That’s a better plan. Casey?”

“I could have—I should have been more clear.” Casey shuddered, presumably at the prospect of emotional vulnerability.

“Good. See, a lot of relationship work is stuff like this. I _do_ couples’ counseling, but I understand that the prospect of having to do that together with high-profile jobs is a real threat to the closet.”

Casey was frowning at him as he talked. “Do you do individual counseling?”

“I do.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to do it.”

“Of course not.”

“Because you’re a wicked, wicked man.”

“Indeed.”

“Who thinks it’s funny to scare the daylights out of clients.”

“It’s not _always_ funny.” Marty smirked. “Today, it was funny.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a possibility. I’m leaving it open.”

“Are you serious?” said Dan.

Casey said to him in an undertone, “You telling me he’s fucking _wrong?_ Has he _been_ wrong?”

Dan, evidently speechless with wonder, shook his head.

Marty watched them and felt something—a crack of light—in his heart; as a therapist, it was important to notice those moments, because a little hope did wonders for the soul.

 

“—and we apologize to our viewers for our language, which was unacceptable.”

“Thank you. You’re watching Sports Night on QVN, so stay with us.”

“Ugh,” said Danny, “glad that’s over.”

“It was _your fault,_ you tools,” Dana said over their earpieces. “And you weren’t the only ones who suffered! We had to live with subs for _two weeks._ ”

“So you’ve been telling us. Often, and at great length.” Casey rolled his eyes.

“I can see you, you know,” Dana said _much_ more loudly. Casey flinched.

“Good to have you back, guys,” said Natalie. “Pull that kind of stunt again and I’ll stake you out in the desert next to an anthill.”

“Natalie,” said Danny patiently, “you should _really_ stop making threats. Someday, someone from HR is going to _hear_ you.”

“Yeah, Natalie,” added Casey. “Learn from our bad example.”

“I haven’t been threatening _reporters,_ so I think I’m safe.” She stuck her tongue out at them as she swung by the desk bearing additional notes. No one made any comments about their behavior being weird; it seemed like the show was ticking on the way it always did, and maybe that was a sign, too.

After the show, Casey and Danny made their way back to their office, walking deliberately slowly in unspoken accord.

They stood in silence for a minute inside the door to their office.

“It’s good to be back, right?” said Danny.

“It is indeed.”

“But it would _also_ be good—”

“To be back where we _were_ —”

“Doing the things we were doing—”

“Maybe at your place?”

“Change it up?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want it to get _boring,_ ” said Danny with a smile.

(It didn’t.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback much loved! And feel free to tell me allllll about your Sports Night FEELS.


End file.
